


Ugly

by SunflowerSupreme



Series: Witcher (Books) [28]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Gen, Prompted Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 03:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26480107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: “Ugly!? No, no, you moronic imbecile, I said he was a snugly person! By the gods, what sort of friend do you take me for?”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witcher (Books) [28]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1624276
Comments: 13
Kudos: 72





	Ugly

**Author's Note:**

> [Inspired by this post from Oops Prompts](https://oopsprompts.tumblr.com/post/177582627642/ugly-oh-no-i-said-they-were-a-snuggly-person)

Sitting beside Dandelion, he can’t help but be aware of what he looks like. Dandelion, the infamous poet, with his cornflower blue eyes and blonde curls looks like something out of a storybook. His skin is light, barely tinged pink, somehow resisting to burn or tan even when he’s been in the sun.

Beside him, Geralt looks less than human. They’re nearly the same height, but while Dandelion manages to look _right_ , somehow, Geralt is too tall, too long, uneven. Geralt's skin is sallow, white as a sheet, with no undertones. His eyes are yellow, and his hair lacks any pigment or texture. He looks, he is aware, like an albino rat. 

Rooms fall silent when Dandelion sang. They also fall silent when Geralt so much as dared to exist in them.

Even Dandelion couldn’t describe him as beautiful. He was the master of lies, but that was stretching the truth a bit too far.

There were other words he could use those, and he did, freely.

_Powerful. Stately. Chiseled. Strong._

But at least he was usually kind enough to spare Geralt the truth. That is what made it hurt so much when he hears voices floating from across the tavern, where Dandelion is deep in conversation with an old friend of his from Oxenfurt that they’d stumbled across.

“Geralt’s rather ugly,” says the poet, adjusting the feather on his cap.

It is true.

That doesn’t make it hurt worse.

Dandelion’s friend laughs, slapping him on the shoulder.

Geralt stands, planning to make a quick escape back up to their room. Unfortunately, that would mean going past Dandelion’s table. He moves as quietly as he can, but there wasn’t much he could do to prevent himself from drawing attention, as every eye in the place seems to follow him.

Dandelion and his friend, however, seem to remain blissfully unaware, still deep in their conversation. “Aye,” murmurs the friend. “A blind fool couldn’t fail to spot that ugly mug.”

Geralt’s foot is on the bottom step when Dandelion’s offended voice rings out, “Ugly!? No, no, you moronic imbecile, I said he was a snugly person! By the gods, what sort of friend do you take me for?”

The Witcher freezes. Dandelion is huffing, suddenly on his feet, gathering his things and muttering insults at his companion.

“Dandelion-” begins the man.

“Oh fuck off,” snaps the poet, slapping away the hand on his arm. “I was willing to pretend I hadn’t heard you call him a Butcher, I thought I might talk you round, but now I see you’re a thoroughly unenlightened, uneducated, and undisciplined man. How on this earth could you think that I would say such things about a friend?”

Geralt remains in the shadows on the staircase, just out of sight of the crowd. He knows he shouldn’t listen in on Dandelion’s conversations, but the bard is loud, it’s hard not to hear, and there’s something nice about having someone come to his defense for once.

“You call that thing a friend? I thought he was your protector.”

Dandelion lets out a wordless screech and Geralt can imagine him pulling at his hair in frustration. “Geralt is a dear friend of mine,” says the bard, having apparently gotten his shouting under control. “I would never insult a friend, but seeing as how you aren’t my friend, I will gladly say that you bleat like a sheep when you sing, your playing is off key, and your ballads are poor copies of better men. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how often you’d borrowed a phrase from me. I was willing to ignore it, but no longer, I shall inform the Dean of your incompetence.”

Dandelion is silent for a moment, and Geralt imagines he’s about to come up the stairs, so he steps out of the way. Given Dandelion’s mood, he’s liable to charge up without looking, and Geralt doesn’t wish to be tramped. But it seems he isn’t done.

His voice was loud, clearly meant to be heard by the room at large, as he says, “Though I can’t say I surprised, you’ve not been the same since that ox kicked you in the balls. Did they remove both, or just the one?”

And then he’s on the stairs, lute slung over his shoulder, lips turned down in a pout. “Don’t scold me,” the poet snaps as he brushes past Geralt. “I know you hate a scene, but sometimes one must be made.”

Its dark, and Dandelion doesn’t see the Witcher’s smile. But all Geralt says is, “If you insist, my friend.”

**Author's Note:**

> Book geralt is a freaky lookin’ motherfucker and honestly we don’t talk about that enough.
> 
> [This art](https://sunflowersupremes.tumblr.com/post/190254330567/scifi-fantasy-horror-by-tony-sart) is probably my favorite depiction of him, and that's sort of what inspired his fic.


End file.
